


Homegoing

by Match (pachipachi)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Afterlife, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:53:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9184579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pachipachi/pseuds/Match
Summary: Gan's afterlife on the Liberator: "If he had to go on being, he might as well go on helping his friends."





	

**Author's Note:**

> From a Tumblr prompt: http://imagine-blakes7.tumblr.com/post/155085837115/imagine-gan-returning-to-the-liberator-as-a. This is more sentimental than my usual. Think of it as a bedtime story. Written quickly, no edits, possible typos, not to be taken too seriously. For what it's worth, I think the story has a happy ending.

Gan's people never had a well-developed concept of the afterlife, so it came as something of a shock when he snapped to awareness in his cabin, overwhelmed by memories of his own death. And missing his body: he was underneath the bed instead of in it, and he never would have been able to fit otherwise.

He did try to leave, several times, but it didn't take. It was easy enough to slip through a thin patch in the hull and cartwheel away, but after a couple thousand spacials it was slow going. Around 10,000 spacials, every time, there was a sort of hiccup and Gan found himself shipboard again. And always under the bed, for some reason. It seemed this was where the universe meant him to be.

Slowly Gan found the shape of his unlife. If he had to go on being, he might as well go on helping his friends. Nudging the door open for Blake when his arms were full. Waiting till Jenna's back was turned before bringing down the coffee mug she liked from a shelf she couldn't reach to one she could. Giving Avon a bit of extra heft when he had to shift panels or console segments. Not enough that he'd notice, but enough to save him from throwing out his back. Vila woke sometimes to find a glass of water and headache remedy nearby that he didn't remember setting out the night before.

Cally noticed there were a few drawers in the medbay that always used to jam and now hardly ever did. The cupboard she'd designated for basic first aid remained stocked and organized no matter who went rummaging through it, or how many ointments and bandages they made off with. She did try to reach out, as she was able, but telepathy is still speech and ghosts are mute. Still there was something, a presence, an occasional warmth. Something like the ship's autorepair, maybe, but instead of fixing the ship it was trying to fix them.

Ghosts measure time by what they have forgotten. By the time the new ones arrived he'd lost the capacity to learn names. This ghost (for he'd forgotten his own name first) knew them only as the dark girl, the curly-haired boy. The others he knew without remembering why; remembered their faces and what they needed without knowing how he'd learned.

The ghost tried to make contact with Zen once or twice, but it was no go. Imagine a bird trying to have a conversation with a fish: how can they communicate if their ears and mouths don't even work the same way? Still, he was the only one who could be with Zen at the end. It may seem strange to offer comfort at the deathbed of something that was never alive when there's no bed and neither of you have bodies, but what else was there to do?

A figure stood silhouetted at the entrance to the flight deck. I wish I could spare the ghost knowledge of who it was, but the universe is no kinder than I am. It was a distant, attenuated memory, but he knew her, and understood why Zen had asked the others for forgiveness.

There was a hiccup. For a moment he was under the bed again and then, as the bulkhead began to separate and the cold rushed through, he blinked out of existence altogether. Gone wherever the dead go in this universe or any other. Gone where, finally, I can't follow.


End file.
